


Tribute

by Pony Girl (Jackjunkie)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Pony%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curry aims to gun down the man who shot Heyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tribute

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #10  
> Tag to episode The McCreedy Bust: Going, Going, Gone!

The Kid had that bleak look on his face again. He’d worn that look ever since they’d ridden the stage out of West Bend, all the way to San Francisco. Heyes thought he’d finally gotten over what had happened back there with Joe Briggs. He’d seemed his old self while they’d met with McCreedy and auctioned off that troublesome bust of Caesar. Now they’d said good-bye to Big Mac and seen him off on his return trip to Texas, that look was back on Curry’s face.

The Kid walked across their hotel room and leaned his forehead against the window, looking down into the bustling city street. Heyes contemplated his next move. He’d already tried leaving the Kid be, trusting he’d work it out on his own, but that obviously hadn’t helped. Maybe he needed to talk it out. Heyes was trying to decide between a joking approach or a serious one when the Kid opened the conversation himself.

“Job’s over. Time to be movin’ on.”

“No rush about leavin’,” Heyes replied cautiously. They hadn’t really made any plans. There was no reason for the Kid to be in a hurry that he could see. “A few days in San Francisco would do us both good,” he suggested. “The saloons, the cards, the women…” That was what his partner needed: some rest and recreation. They had been working pretty hard lately and this last job for McCreedy had really taken it out of them. The strain was bound to be weighing on Curry, but Heyes was sure that a taste of San Francisco’s high life would have him back to his usual good-natured self in no time.

“I can’t do this anymore, Heyes.”

“Can’t do what?” Heyes was brought out of his reverie on the treats the city held in store and focused again on his partner’s back. “Stay in San Francisco? We oughtta be safe enough in a crowded place like this, Kid. No reason not to relax a little and enjoy ourselves.”

“Not just stay in San Francisco, Heyes. Stay, period.” The Kid turned from the window to face his partner. He squared his shoulders as if preparing for a difficult task.

“Kid, you’re not makin’ any sense. Stay where? What are ya talkin’ about?” Curry was naturally a man of few words, but even on his worst days Heyes didn’t have this much trouble understanding him. On the contrary, he was far more likely to know what his partner was feeling without needing to hear a word from him about it.

The Kid expanded on his declaration. “Stay here, back to Texas, wherever we’re headed next. Don’t matter. I can’t stay with you, Heyes, and keep tryin’ for our amnesty the way we been doin’. It just ain’t workin’. We gotta split up and go our separate ways, like I been sayin’ from the first, so’s I don’t ruin it for both of us. At least this way you got a chance for amnesty even if I mess it up.” There. It was out.

Heyes was feeling a bit stunned. His brain took a minute to process what his ears had heard. So this was the notion Curry’d been gnawing on. How’d he get such an addled idea anyway? “How’d you get such an addled idea anyway?” he asked. “You ain’t messed up. Nuthin’ went wrong. Everything worked out back there, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, in the end, no thanks to me.” Curry sighed deeply. He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy. “We’re gonna keep meetin’ up with fellas like Joe Briggs, Heyes, and one o’ these days it ain’t all gonna work out. It’s been this way right from the beginning. Remember those fellas in the saloon in Porterville? The ones who wanted to call me out when we didn’t have our guns, ‘cause Lom had his deputy hold ‘em while he went off to talk to the governor about our deal? You asked me then for a chance, a chance at somethin’ we never had before. I gave you that chance, I said we’d play it your way. We been playin’ it your way ever since, Heyes, but I just can’t do it nomore. I got to play it my own way for a while.”

“Kid, you’re talkin’ crazy. What are you gonna do, go back to robbin’ trains? You wanted this amnesty as much as I did.”

“I know I did, Heyes. I still do. I ain’t sayin’ I’m givin’ up on it.”

“Just on us, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“We’re partners, Kid. Partners stick together.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Why d’you think I stuck it out long as I did? I know what bein’ partners means an’ I know what leavin’ means, but, Heyes, I can’t keep actin’ like somethin’ I’m not. You don’t know what it did to me to go along with those jigs back there. That last time I couldn’t go through it again. Not for you, not for our amnesty, not for nuthin’.”

Heyes had felt the Kid’s mortification at the time, could feel it still in his voice. Heyes thought the Kid took some things too much to heart. Had he been in his shoes, it wouldn’t have bothered him the same way. Yet that did not prevent him from understanding what it had cost Curry. He spoke quietly, but earnestly, to convince him of that. “Kid, I do know. Briggs pushed you too far. You think I couldn’t see that? I backed you up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I know you did, Heyes.”

“You know I’d do it again, too.”

“I ain’t askin’ that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I know that, too, Heyes.” The Kid sounded infinitely weary. “But usin’ a gun ain’t your choice most times. Like not usin’ one ain’t mine.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to give up your gun.”

“No, just to quit usin’ it so much. I made you a solemn promise not to use the gun unless I needed it, Heyes, to act meek as a mouse to Briggs, and what good did it do me? Actin’ meek didn’t get me nowhere. I needed the gun just like I knew I would.”

“So you’re just gonna give up? Everything we’ve tried so hard for, the amnesty, a new life—you’re just gonna give all that up and go back to what we were?”

“I ain’t givin’ up, Heyes, just followin’ a different road to get there is all.”

Heyes shook his head in frustration. He wasn’t getting through to his cousin at all. “I know it’s been hard, Kid. Hard on both of us. But we ain’t done so bad this way so far. We’re here, ain’t we? We stuck to the honest road, our records are clear since our deal, we’re still in the governor’s good graces.”

“I know it’s hard on you, too, Heyes. I ain’t sayin’ any different. That’s what I mean. We’ll both have an easier time on our own. It ain’t just me. Your plans ain’t what they used to be neither.”

“I knew it! It’s the breakfast, ain’t it? Just because I forgot to plan for one measly breakfast…”

“Heyes, it ain’t just the breakfast. It’s that you forgot the breakfast.”

“Ain’t that the same thing?”

“No, it ain’t. That ain’t like you an’ you know it. Hannibal Heyes don’t forget nuthin’ when he thinks up a plan. It just goes to show…”

“It don’t show nuthin’ ‘ceptin’ we’re both tired and need a rest.” Heyes decided it was time for a change of tactics. He quit arguing and smiled his most charming and persuasive smile. “Listen to me, Kid. Come on out with me, we’ll spend the night on the town. I guarantee you after a night of drinking, gambling, and beautiful women, things’ll look different in the morning. If they don’t, well, we can talk some more. I’ll come up with something. I always do. I don’t wanna hear no more about splittin’ up. Have I failed us yet when we needed to come up with an idea?”

Curry looked obstinately at his friend, his lips set in a thin line, resisting that smile.

“Well? Have I?” Heyes repeated impatiently.

Curry gave in and answered reluctantly. “No, Heyes, you ain’t.”

“There, see? We’ll work somethin’ out, Kid. Now let’s not keep San Francisco waitin’.”

Another moment’s resistance, then the Kid conceded, “All right, Heyes, we’ll do it your way again. A night on the town. Why not?”

“Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go. I heard about this place, Kid, that’s so fancy…” Heyes let his silver tongue work its magic while internally he relaxed. He was always able to talk the Kid round. He could stop worrying. In the end the Kid always followed his lead. Always.

*****

The Kid finished writing the note he was leaving for Heyes and rose quietly from his chair. He picked up the saddlebags he’d packed, set his hat on his blond curls, and turned, his hand on the doorknob, for one last look at his partner, sprawled on the bed sound asleep.

After a night of carousing, Heyes was dead to the world. Curry had kept a clearer head, knowing what he had in mind for the next morning would go easier that way. As it was, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Too much to think on.

He’d spent an enjoyable enough evening. Heyes was determined to make him forget his troubles, so he obliged his friend by going along with all his diversions. Except the forgetting part. Curry wasn’t about to do that. This was one time Heyes’ silver tongue wasn’t going to talk him out of his own ideas.

It was like what had happened with Briggs. He’d just been pushed too far. He hadn’t been able to do just one more jig. Now he wasn’t able to go along with Heyes just one more time. It was as much for Heyes’ good as for his own.

Curry knew his own faults and limitations. He knew he was stubborn, knew he had a temper, knew he relied on his gun to get him out of trouble—and he knew that gun got him into trouble as often as out of it. If Heyes had gone to West Bend on his own, he wouldn’t have gotten into any trouble at all. Heyes would have taken off his gunbelt, just like he done, and Briggs wouldn’t have paid him any mind. That would have been the end of it. The only reason it wasn’t the end was because Kid Curry was with him and Kid Curry couldn’t take off his gunbelt just because someone told him to. So there had been trouble and there had been a gunfight and he knew it was all due to his nature. There was nothing he could do about that. There was a time he’d thought different. He’d tried to change, he’d struggled against his inclinations, but he was finally ready to admit he was wrong. He was the way he was and he thought maybe it was time to stop struggling and accept that.

The reason he’d tried so hard and so long was Heyes asked him to. He’d thought he would do anything, could do anything for Heyes. He’d lay down his life for him, but he just couldn’t live his life for him any longer. Something in him snapped when he was facing Joe Briggs and he hadn’t been able to bear it since. He just knew he was headed for a fall and he didn’t want to bring Heyes down with him when it happened. He had to go away, for both their sakes.

“So long, partner,” he murmured softly, then walked quietly out the door without a backward glance.

*****

Heyes cracked one eye open a slit and groaned as the sunlight stabbed into it. He closed it again, rolled over onto his back, and wondered if it would be worth the effort to attempt to sit up. He mulled it over for a bit and decided to give it a try. He pushed himself slowly to a sitting position. No, he realized, it hadn’t been worth it after all. He’d only have to stand next and he didn’t see how he was going to manage that.

Cradling his head in his hands, he ventured a quick peek around the room. “Kid?” he called inquiringly, then groaned again at the reverberation of the sound. The Kid didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Knowing him, he’d probably gone out for some breakfast. At the thought of food, Heyes’ stomach gave a protesting lurch and he suddenly had the necessary motivation to stumble to his feet and find his way to the basin.

He felt vastly better after a wash and slowly got dressed. He might be able to face the world today after all. He walked over to the desk to pick up his hat and that’s when he saw the note secured under it. He swore and snatched it up.

“Oh, Kid, what have you done?” he reproved and raced from the room, his headache forgotten.

He rushed through the lobby and into the street before he slowed down long enough to think about where to look. The Kid had left no indication of where he was going, but that wasn’t going to stop Heyes from tracking him. How many ways were there to get out of San Francisco? Only by horse, buggy, stage, train, ship, traveling in every direction of the compass… Well, the only way to start was to start. He’d just have to pick one and see where it led. The Kid couldn’t lose himself completely. Hell, they’d been trying to do that without any luck ever since they made their amnesty deal.

After spending what was left of the morning and part of the afternoon asking the same questions over and over, Heyes hadn’t made any headway. His stomach had settled down and he thought he might as well break for lunch and continue his search afterwards. Noticing one of the saloons they’d visited the night before, he walked in to get a sandwich.

He didn’t make it to the bar. A man got up from one of the tables and blocked his way.

“Thought I told you I didn’t want to see you in here again, Smith,” he said.

Heyes stopped and looked behind himself, saw no one there, then pointed to himself in a puzzled fashion and said, “Are you addressing me, sir?”

“Don’t pull that fancy stuff on me, Smith. You talked yourself outta here last night, but I told you not to come back an’ I meant it. You don’t listen real good. You don’t even let a day go by and look, here you are again.”

Heyes concentrated on remembering, but the events of last night were somewhat fuzzy. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t recollect a lot about last night. Had a little too much to drink—you understand.” He laughed deprecatingly. “Whatever happened, I’m sure I didn’t mean no offense.”

“Could be the truth, Rafe,” said one of the men still seated at the table. “I have a hard time remembering some nights myself. Seem to recall it takin’ you that way a time or two likewise.” He nudged his companion, who joined in a laugh over some remembered incident.

The man called Rafe glanced their way, then back at Heyes with no change in his demeanor. “Don’t matter none. I took offense. I always take offense at fellas who win that much money at cards. I told you not to try that here again.”

“Oh, if that’s all this is about, you can rest easy. I’m not here to play cards, honest. I just came in to have myself a quiet little lunch and then I’ll be on my way. You’ll never even know I was here.” Nodding in a friendly fashion, Heyes took a step towards the bar.

Rafe’s words stopped him from taking a second step. “Oh, I know you’re here all right. And if all you come for was lunch, then you can just go eat somewhere else.”

Heyes was tired and he was hungry and he wanted a drink. He’d been running all over town for hours without getting so much as a whiff of a lead on the Kid. He hadn’t been in the best physical condition when he started and now he was feeling footsore and grumpy. He wasn’t about to go look for another place to eat when he was standing right in one. Besides, if he couldn’t talk this jackal into agreeing to let him stay put, then he didn’t deserve his reputation.

“Look, all I wanna do is eat my lunch in peace. Now I’m gonna walk over to that bar, outta your way, eat and leave, and then you’ll never see me again. No harm done.”

“You walkin’ in here’s already done the harm.”

“We’ve been through all that. The only reason I’m here is for the food and drink. In fact, I’ll even buy a round to make up for any trouble. You look like a man who can understand a good drink.”

“What I understand is that the only thing you’re gonna understand is this.” Rafe’s hand rested on the butt of his gun.

“Whoa there, let’s not carry this too far,” Heyes back-pedaled. How’d he get himself into this? He suddenly realized he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. He wasn’t the Kid after all and he wasn’t about to get pushed into a gunfight over food.

“Too late to back down, Smith. Draw,” insisted Rafe, suiting his actions to his words and drawing his own weapon.

Heyes had no option but to draw his own gun in defense. Rafe had a lead on him, however, and Heyes had barely cleared his holster when a bullet slammed into his chest. The great Hannibal Heyes, shot down in a stupid bar brawl. _The Kid’d sure get a laugh outta this,_ he thought before everything went black.

*****

Kid Curry rode down a dusty street and dismounted by a hitching rail. He looked thirstily at a saloon, but decided to visit the telegraph office first. Once he’d sent that telegram to Lom, he could satisfy that thirst at his leisure.

He’d hitched a ride out of San Francisco on a farmer’s wagon that was heading home from the market there. Heyes’d have a hard time picking up his trail when he hadn’t bought a ticket or a horse. He knew Heyes would try something like that in spite of what he’d said and written, so he’d taken care to make it as hard as possible for anyone to follow him. He’d acquired the horse later to continue his journey.

The Kid had meant what he’d told Heyes about not giving up on the amnesty. He still intended to try for it. So he thought he’d better let Lom know about this latest turn of events. He’d send him a telegram, have a few drinks, and then move on. His plans hadn’t taken him much further than that yet.

He filled out the telegraph form and handed it to the clerk to wire to Porterville.

“Thaddeus Jones?” the clerk asked upon seeing his signature. “I have a telegram here for you, Mr. Jones.”

“A telegram for me? Nobody knows I’m here. _I_ didn’t know I’d be here,” the Kid said in confusion. Heyes couldn’t have picked up his trail that fast.

“Came in about an hour ago,” said the clerk, handing him the paper on which he’d transcribed the message.

The Kid read it in growing alarm. He didn’t know how the news had found him, but that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting back to Heyes.

The telegram read: “J. Smith shot. Near death. Come at once.” It was signed Silky O’Sullivan.

Crumpling the paper, the Kid charged out of the telegraph office.

“Hey, what about this here telegram you wanted to send?” the clerk shouted after him.

“Forget it,” the Kid called over his shoulder. “Ain’t important nomore.”

His thirst forgotten, Curry leaped on his horse and galloped out of town back towards San Francisco.

*****

Curry stood by the bedside, looking down at his partner’s lifeless countenance. His dark lashes stood out in stark contrast against the white skin, pale even against the white sheets.

“Heyes, what did you go and do to yourself?” the Kid asked miserably. Silky had told him things didn’t look good. He was just grateful Silky had been there to care for Heyes. He sure hadn’t been.

When Heyes and Curry hadn’t shown up to pay a promised visit to their old friend, Silky had sent an inquiry to their hotel and found out about Heyes’ injury and Curry’s departure. He had Heyes brought to his home, where the best doctor in San Francisco had done all he could for him. Now it was just a question of waiting. The doctor held out very little hope for Heyes’ survival. No vital organs had been touched, but it was a bad chest wound and Heyes had lost quite a bit of blood.

The Kid had arrived after nightfall and hadn’t left Heyes’ side all night. Silky only hoped he wasn’t holding vigil at Heyes’ deathbed, but that’s what it looked like.

The Kid took the drying cloth from Heyes’ forehead, wrung it out in cool water, and replaced it on his friend’s brow. It was all he could do for him now.

Heyes didn’t even stir at his partner’s touch. He was so still. Curry’d never seen Heyes this still. He was always so full of energy.

The Kid felt helpless, lost like when he was little and couldn’t find his way in the dark. Only then it had always been his big cousin Hannibal who had come and led him back into the light. How was he going to find his way without Heyes to lead him now?

The room was awash in morning light when the nurse Silky had hired came in to tend to Heyes and to shoo Curry out for some breakfast. His appetite had deserted him, but he poured a cup of coffee and sat down to talk to Silky.

“Tell me again what happened, Silky. I’m not sure I caught everything you said last night. How’d this happen to him?”

For the second time, Silky went over what he knew. He’d gotten an account of the fight from folks at the saloon. When he’d finished, he noted the determined look in the Kid’s eyes.

“Now don’t you go and do anything stupid, Kid. How’s that gonna help Heyes?”

“Heyes’d be the first one to tell you he’d figure me to do something stupid, Silky.”

“Kid, you know Heyes don’t mean nuthin’ by that ‘stupid’ talk. He’s just funnin’ you when he says that.”

“I know that, Silky.” The Kid gazed into his coffee as though he could find answers there to unanswerable questions.

“Then you aren’t goin’ after the man who did this?” Silky wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He was fond of these two boys. It looked like he was going to lose one of them; he didn’t want to lose the other.

“I’ll tell ya something Heyes was tellin’ me about not too long ago, Silky. Way back a long time ago, some o’ those old Romans or Vikings or someone like that had a custom when someone was killed. The person responsible had to pay tribute for the dead man.” Curry looked up at Silky, but his look was remote, like he was looking through him at something far away. “The man who shot Heyes owes tribute for him. He’s gonna pay.”

At the icy tone, Silky held his tongue. Rafe Grafton was as good as dead already. Nothing he could say would change that.

Curry put down his cup and walked out of the house, and Silky didn’t even try to stop him.

*****

Kid Curry walked from the hot sun into the cool, dimly lit saloon and scanned the occupants, looking for one man. Men looked at him and got out of his way. No one wanted to argue with that look. Those blue eyes that could be gentle as a summer sky had turned to steel, cold as gunmetal.

He found the man he was looking for. “Rafe Grafton,” he called in a clear, hard voice.

Grafton turned and took in the look and the stance and the tone. He did not back away from them; he welcomed them. A slow smile spread across his face. “Jones, ain’t it? That Smith’s partner. Looks like we’re gonna have us some more fun, boys,” he said to his friends.

Curry looked at this man, the man who shot Heyes. The man who killed his partner, his cousin, his friend. The man he would kill in return.

Kid Curry had killed men before. He’d killed when he had to, always to defend himself or others. He had never deliberately set out to kill anyone before. Even when he’d killed Danny Billson, the man who had cheated justice and gotten away with their friend Seth’s murder, it had been Danny who’d called Curry out. He wasn’t sorry to have killed him, he’d even considered it at one point, but he hadn’t planned it.

This man was getting away with murder, too. _Heyes’_ murder. The Kid wasn’t about to let him get away with that. He owed tribute and he would pay for Heyes’ life with his own. The Kid hadn’t even had to think about that. It was just the way it was.

“You shot my partner, Grafton. I’m calling you out,” he said.

“Happy to oblige,” Grafton answered. “This won’t take long, boys,” he bragged. “He’ll go down easy as his friend did.”

Curry had remembered Grafton from the evening he’d lost to Heyes at poker. He’d taken it badly and they’d just walked away. It hadn’t been worth fighting over, so the Kid was puzzled as to how he had been able to push Heyes into a fight later. It had sounded like an argument over nothing, which wasn’t Heyes’ style at all. The only way the Kid could account for it was that Grafton must have pulled something dirty and forced Heyes’ hand. Seeing him now, Curry knew he was right. The man was spoiling for a fight and showed no regard for ensuring a fair one. The Kid wasn’t fond of bullies to begin with and this didn’t help Grafton’s cause any.

The two men faced off, the onlookers drawing back out of range, but not so far as to miss seeing the fight.

The Kid stood easily, relaxed and focused. He’d done this countless times before. He was always prepared to draw and shoot. The only difference from all the other times was his settled purpose to kill. A small difference. After all, it was for Heyes.

The Kid looked into Grafton’s eyes, waiting for a sign he was about to draw. The eyes often acted as a telegraph of his opponent’s intentions. For a moment, Grafton’s bloodshot eyes faded and the image of his partner’s warm brown ones flickered across his sight. He blinked. It would be a poor trade, this skunk’s life for Heyes’, but it would be all the justice he could get. There, it came, the look, and Grafton went for his gun.

The Kid drew and shot, surely, gracefully, the bullet hitting true where he aimed. Grafton went down, his blood mingling with the sawdust on the floor. Expressionlessly, the Kid watched him bleed, watched him writhe in pain, his collarbone busted, his arm hanging useless from the gaping wound in his shoulder, but living still. He was living and he would heal. All it had taken was a split second’s change in aim from the heart to the shoulder. The Kid holstered his gun, turned on his heel, and walked out of the dark saloon into the daylight.

He couldn’t say why he had let Grafton live. He had had every intention of killing him for Heyes, but somehow it had seemed a more fitting tribute to leave him alive for Heyes. He couldn’t explain it. Grafton had paid with his blood and that was enough. It shouldn’t be, but it was.

*****

The Kid was back at Silky’s, telling his partner what had happened. He knew Heyes couldn’t hear him, but that didn’t seem to matter. He always worked things out by talking them over with Heyes, and this time was no different. He was trying to find an explanation for his actions. He just couldn’t figure himself out.

He’d spent the better part of the afternoon there, thinking and talking by turns. The nurse and Silky came and went now and then, but mostly they left the two of them alone. There was no change in Heyes’ condition and so they still played a waiting game.

The Kid walked over to the window and looked out at the city. He could talk to Heyes from here without seeing that unresponsive mask that had taken the place of his vigorous friend. Here he could picture a pair of lively brown eyes instead, willing ears and a ready tongue with all the answers he needed.

“I dunno, Heyes. It was kinda like what we’ve talked about before, how goin’ straight gets to be a habit. Killin’ him woulda broke a habit. I meant to, but something stopped me.

“I wanted him to pay tribute, like what you were tellin’ me about the olden days, but I kept seein’ you and it somehow seemed more fittin’ to let him walk away. I ain’t sure why. It ain’t just that maybe you wouldn’ta wanted me to kill him. It’s more like it woulda sullied your memory somehow.”

Curry paused a moment to ponder that. It was true that Heyes never wanted him to kill, but this case was kind of personal. Maybe Heyes would want that kind of revenge on his own murderer. That thought didn’t feel right, though. He started talking again, trying to put his nebulous feelings into words.

“Picturin’ you lyin’ here dyin’ made me want him dead, too. But somehow I kept seein’ you up and walkin’ around and laughin’ like you used to, and I stopped wantin’ him dead. You had such a drive for living, Heyes, I guess I sorta wanted to spread that around some. I know that don’t make no sense.”

Curry paused again, to think about his partner a bit. He felt a little foolish saying some of these things, but it was what was in his heart and he felt a need to get them said out loud. Now, before it was time to say them at a funeral service. He wasn’t one for praying much, even at a time like this. Maybe this was his way of praying for Heyes.

Something else needed saying, too. He’d been thinking hard on this subject, and he felt ready now to make a promise.

“And I’ll tell ya something else, Heyes,” he vowed. “I’m gonna get that amnesty, no matter what. Even if I gotta hang up my gun for good to do it. I’ll do whatever it takes, for both of us. That’s a solemn promise.”

“I sure hope so, ‘cause ya know I’ll hafta flatten ya if ya don’t.”

“Now, look, Heyes, I thought we settled…” The Kid broke off and whirled around as he realized what he’d just heard. His partner was looking at him with those brown eyes the Kid had never thought he’d see open again. He whooped loud enough to wake snakes and crossed the room in two swift strides.

“Heyes! You’re awake! You talked!” Then, fearing he may have imagined it, “You did talk, didn’t you, Heyes? Say something to me!”

“Calm down and let me get a word in edgewise and I might,” said the invalid, to his partner’s great relief. “Ya always did talk too much, Kid.”

The door flew open and Silky and the nurse bustled in.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Silky asked testily. “You’re yellin’ like to take the roof off.”

“He’s awake, Silky! He’s talkin’!” Curry was babbling in his excitement.

“Land o’ Goshen, if he ain’t! How do you feel, son?”

“Like a team of horses just galloped across my chest,” Heyes reported with a weak grin. “Other than that, not too bad.”

The nurse was going about her business, feeling his forehead, checking his pulse. “We’d best fetch the doctor, sir,” she recommended to Silky.

“Yes, yes, we’ll do that right away. You stay here with him, Thaddeus, make sure he stays put till the doctor arrives. Don’t get him too excitable, mind.”

Silky and the nurse went off to send for the doctor.

“Heyes, I thought you were a goner,” Curry said when they were alone again. He sat down in a chair by the bedside, his formerly somber expression replaced by a wide grin.

“Ya don’t hafta look so happy about it,” Heyes gave him an answering grin. “No, I gathered what you thought from that speech you were busy makin’ to the window.”

“Speech?” Curry thought back on what he’d been saying. What embarrassing admissions had Heyes heard? “Just how long were you awake anyway?”

“Oh, long enough to piece together what happened with Grafton,” Heyes answered vaguely. “Think I’ve got an answer for you,” he added.

Curry wasn’t really very surprised to hear that. “What is it?” he asked.

“All that talk about not being able to change, Kid. I didn’t see it either, but there it is. We been working so hard at this amnesty, wanting so hard to change, we didn’t even notice when it happened.”

“When what happened? What are you gettin’ at, Heyes?”

“Us. We have changed, Kid. You just couldn’t throw away your chance for that amnesty, even on your own. You didn’t take my way or your way. You took a new way—a right way for both of us. Things are different for us now, Kid. We can’t go back.”

Curry thought it over. “Maybe you’re right, Heyes. I know I don’t wanna go back. I just been feelin’ so mixed up lately.”

“Maybe it’s the changes, Kid. Change is liable to confuse a body. And we know how easily confused you are.”

“Uh huh.” Heyes hadn’t changed that much. He was sounding like his old self again. He must be feeling better, too, if he was ragging on the Kid already. That was a good sign.

Heyes’ eyes drooped shut and Curry thought he was falling asleep. They fluttered open again, though, and he gave his partner a sour look. “I almost forgot—what do you mean by running off like that anyway?”

“Thought we settled that. My confused state, remember? Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna do it again. Maybe you better stop talking now, Heyes. Silky said you weren’t to get excited. Remember your condition.”

“Yeah, my condition.” Heyes yawned. He was pretty tired. “Sure wish you’d been there when Grafton drew on me,” he murmured.

“So do I.” The Kid sounded grim.

Heyes knew he must be extremely tired to let a stray thought like that slip out. He’d better watch his tongue. He didn’t want the Kid wallowing in guilt. He hurried to change that train of thought. “What made you come back? Change your mind?”

“Silky telegraphed me.”

“Telegraphed…? How’d he find you?”

“After he learned I’d checked out of the hotel, he sent telegrams to every town for miles around San Francisco, as far as he thought I could’ve traveled by then.”

“What? That must have cost a fortune!” Heyes marveled that their friend, who constantly complained about rising prices, would spend that much money on a mere chance of success.

“What’s the use in being rich if you can’t fritter your money away once in a while?” Silky grumbled as he entered with the doctor.

After a thorough examination, the doctor pronounced an astounding recovery. With plenty of bed rest, Heyes should regain his former level of fitness. “You have an amazing constitution, young man,” the doctor told him. “You’re very lucky.”

“Boy’s just too danged ornery to die. Told you that before,” Silky lectured the doctor as they left the two friends alone again.

“All of San Francisco out there and I have to lie in this bed with nothing to do,” Heyes complained.

“Nothing but sleep and eat and read, which you’re always saying you wished you had more time for. Not to mention a pretty nurse to wait on you hand and foot. Course I could always tell Silky to hire that other nurse, the one he told me about who wanted to dose you with cod liver oil,” the Kid teased.

“Don’t you dare,” Heyes warned.

“Or what? You’ll flatten me? You ain’t in no condition to make threats, Heyes.”

“My condition ain’t gonna last forever, Kid, and then we’ll see who flattens who.”

The Kid grinned. It sure felt good to have things back to normal. Some things never changed. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

THE END


End file.
